The arena settled, mist curling around battered students and shattered illusions. Every student was exhausted, drenched in sweat and magical residue. The supporting students looked at each other—relieved, proud, and wary of what would come next.
Lyra surveyed the battlefield. The shadows, the broken platforms, the marks of beasts' claws—this was a living test, reacting to the fears, skill, and instincts of every participant.
Principal Eryndor's voice boomed again. "The Tournament will continue tomorrow. You will face new beasts, new traps, and new challenges designed to break the strongest among you. Prepare yourselves. The academy watches."
Every student felt it: the academy itself was alive, dangerous, and constantly observing. Mist swirled, shadows flickered, and the distant growls of unseen beasts echoed through the halls.
Lyra's mark pulsed faintly in her arm. She tightened her grip on her shadow blade. This was survival. Strategy. Mastery. And she would need all of it… just to survive what came next.